The Dollhouse
by xSpamano
Summary: There is an old dollhouse, that for as long I can remember has been in our attic. I've always been allured by it's small little porch, it's swooping roof, and small windows with the curtains drawn tight.
1. Chapter 1

There is an old dollhouse, that for as long I can remember has been in our attic. Is small little porch, its the perfect dolls inside of it that draw me closer.

There is one doll of an middle aged man, tan, curly brown hair, and emerald green eyes, that catches my eyes above all the rest. Het for his small size you could mistake him for a real person.

Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

It has a smile painted onto it's face. A cheery smile, an almost too cheery smile. He looks so happy that I want to yell at him that he's a fake- but that would be silly because he is only a doll. Amongst the dolls there is also a mother, a father, and a son. But they are different, very contrast compared to The Faker. For one they are less tan than he is, and none of them have green eyes. They all have amber eyes, and their hair is no where near as curly as his is. In fact, the only curl anywhere near them is the one single curl they all have jutting out from their heads. I can't help but notice that it looks like mine, it's strange really. These dolls they remind me more of me than my own family does. Except for The Faker, he's so out of place. Compared to The Perfect One, the Mother, and the Father. He doesn't belong. He's just like me. A misplaced piece that is still desperately trying to complete the set. 


	3. Chapter 3

I had a dream last night. It was a strange dream.

I dreamt that I was in the doll house.

I awoke in the Perfect Ones hold still strong on my arm as he led me to the dining room. I couldnt cold like it usually was and that it actually felt quite real. The shiny plastic he was made of looked and felt like flesh. His hand was even warm to the touch.

Very Strange.

We arrived in the kitchen where I saw the Mother setting plates on the table and the Father reading a paper.

There was only one doll missing from the scene, the Faker. I wondered where he could be and what he was doing. What exactly did a doll do in their spare time?

I heard footsteps. Very loud footsteps. Almost as if there was a giant. The plates on the table began to shake and rattle slightly.

The Faker got a shocked look on his face and gripped my arm tighter as he quickly ran to the table, dragging me with him.

He sat down and decided on a pose, he was smiling, facing The Mother. The mother took a similar pose across from him, sitting down as well. The Father just continued to read his paper, but he too froze in place.

I was confused on what to do, so I just folded my hands in my lap and stared at the plate in front of me.

The walls began to open and I soon realized the dollhouse was being opened.

Soon the wall was completely opened revealing the last doll. Only he wasnt look fake, it looked real.

How very strange.


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up in a sweat and immediately pulled the covers off of my body. I sat up and clutched my knees, willing my heart to slow down. I wasnt scary. Not to me at least.

I uncurled my self and silently got up, slipping on clothes as I moved about my room.

Looking at my bed I realized that with the way the blankets were bundled up it could almost look like a person and was reminded of The Perfect One and how I had awoken in his bed. He had called me his brother, which was of course a strange thing to call me, but it also made sense. We did look a lot alike- maybe if he were real we could truly be considered family.

Taking one finale glance at my bed I walked out of my room and silently closed the door before taking the short trek to the pull-down stairs that led to our small attic. I stretched up to the ceiling and tried to grab the dangling string, my shirt rode up my stomach slightly as I stumbled forward on my tippy toes. It took me a few attempts and quite a bit of jumping but I finally caught the string and pulled down the ladder, climbing it as quickly as I could. Only stumbling once.

As I came through the small opening in the attic floor the outline of the dollhouse caught my eye immediately. I had always wondered why it was in the attic and rather not somewhere else in our house-perhaps on display- it was a beautiful dollhouse after all. But I had never asked in fear that my mother or father would remember the old thing and get rid of it.

I took a moment to study it, itt. I never belonged, even when I was supposed to.

My name is Lovino Vargas and I love my dolls.


End file.
